


in a lather

by M0stlyVoid



Series: Kinktober 2020 [20]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Armpit Kink, Bathing/Washing, Body Hair, Flying, Hair Washing, M/M, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Shower Sex, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid
Summary: Draco is having the hardest time getting Harry totake a hint, already—he's going to have to take matters into his own hands.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinktober 2020 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948741
Comments: 20
Kudos: 263





	in a lather

**Author's Note:**

> the october 20 prompt for kinktober 2020 is— _armpit kink_.

Draco glances up at the clock, sighing when he notes that only ten minutes have passed. He readjusts his _casual_ post on the couch, parting his legs and shoving another pillow under his chest so that his back arches even further, which in turn pushes his arse up to best display.

 _Professor Potter, Champion to the last,_ he thinks; uncharitable, he knows, but _really,_ doesn’t Harry get enough of the students during the week, without also having to volunteer to give flying lessons on Saturday mornings? And he still won’t be done for another quarter-hour.

Draco flicks aimlessly through the book he’d chosen for this little show, skimming the words without actually registering any of them as he thinks about Harry’s ‘remedial flying’ class. If it’s anything like what Draco’s ‘remedial Potions’ optional sessions had looked like, perhaps one-third of the attendees would be there to genuinely learn and get help, with the remainder there to ogle and—in the case of some of the more enterprising sixth and seventh years—flirt.

Shoving that entirely unpleasant memory out of his head (thank Merlin none of their teachers had been attractive; now that he’s on the other end of things, Draco is constantly amazed at how _young_ the students are, even though he remembers feeling fully grown at their age), Draco notes that he’s managed to eat up almost all of the remaining fifteen minutes, and cranes his neck to make sure his tight blue pants are lying flat against his arse—it wouldn’t do if they were wrinkled or bunched unattractively. He’s trying to look casual and devastatingly stunning, _not_ like a rumpled mess.

He flicks his ponytail to lie _just so_ along his shoulder blade, then picks up his book and gets it open to the last page he can remember actually paying attention to just as Harry steps through the door to their quarters.

“Professor _Malfoy,_ ” Harry says appreciatively, and Draco fights to keep his eyes on the book and a triumphant smirk off his face, idly flicking to the next page.

“Harry,” he replies, pursing his lips as he comes to the end of the chapter, then carefully marks his page and shuts the book before letting his eyes drag up Harry’s body and meeting his eyes. “How were lessons?”

Harry’s flying clothes are clinging to him, with patches of sweat soaking through on his stomach and under his pecs, and Draco does his best not to drool as Harry stretches back and his shirt rides up, showing some of the dark hair along his waist. “They were...probably just about exactly as you imagined them, honestly,” he says, kicking his shoes and socks off and crossing the room to Draco’s side, bending down and skimming his hand over Draco’s back. A drop of sweat hits Draco’s spine, and he shivers. “It’s blazing out today, and I had to send _three_ Ravenclaws back inside for inappropriate attire—and only _one_ of them was a girl—and almost every single other attendee was so very clearly faking their issues. I’m going to have bloody _nightmares_ about a horde of sixteen-year-olds asking me for my opinion on their _broom grip_.”

“I did warn you,” Draco says mildly, twisting a bit so he can look at Harry, whose eyes are fixed directly on his arse. Good. “The dangers of being the only non-geriatric professors in the whole school—they’re all pinning their ill-fated schoolaged crushes on us. _Not_ that I can say I blame them; I certainly would have tried it on with you if you were _my_ flying instructor, _Professor Potter_.” He bats his lashes and wiggles his arse, and Harry laughs, teeth gleaming white.

“You’re horrid,” he says affectionately, pinching Draco’s rump. “And shameless. And, somehow, more fit than when I married you—tell me true, am I going to stumble across some terrifying portrait of you one of these days when I’m on patrol?”

“A gentleman never reveals his secrets,” Draco sniffs, rolling onto his back and parting his legs enticingly. “Now, come here—you’ve kept me waiting _awfully_ long, and I think you should make it up to me.”

Harry bends and kisses him hard, but just as things are getting interesting he pulls back. “Let me just shower first,” he whispers, scraping his nails over Draco’s nipples as he stands up again. He strips his shirt off as he walks to the bathroom, tossing it over his shoulder with a wink.

Draco snatches the shirt from midair and sighs, then brings the shirt to his face and inhales deeply, Sending it to the laundry basket, he sits up and thinks.

Harry—doesn’t get it. Draco’s tried to explain it to him—how when Harry’s been out on a run, or had a particularly vigorous Defence class, or he’s gone flying, that when he returns, sweaty and warm, _that’s_ when Draco finds him most irresistible. The Muggles call it _pheromones,_ he thinks, but most of them have dismissed it as a pseudoscience—ironic, because it’s _very_ real, especially to someone like Draco, whose generations-long bloodline makes him more sensitive than most to the energies and auras people throw off, which are only amplified after activity. He literally _dreams_ of licking the sweat off Harry’s jaw, burying his nose in Harry’s underarm, running his fingers through the hair over his torso, cupping his pecs and tugging at his nipples, and…

The shower turns on, and Draco shakes himself out of his reverie; enough is enough. Harry clearly isn’t getting his hints, even when Draco literally puts himself _on display_ —he’s going to have to take more direct action.

Standing, he strides into the bathroom, banging the door open and almost sending Harry, who’s balancing on one leg as he tugs his joggers off, to the floor in shock. 

“Bloody hell, Draco!” Harry yelps, catching himself on the sink. “Ever heard of _knocking_? What is it?”

Draco stands in the doorway for a minute, taking in Harry’s naked body, then steps in and shuts the door behind him. “I _asked_ for you to have sex with me, Harry.” He sounds petulant, and winces, but pushes on, moving closer to Harry as he talks. “You always insist on running in here when you get back from exercising, no matter what I say or do. What is it going to take to make you understand?” He reaches forward, grabs Harry’s hand, and puts it directly over his own crotch, where Harry can clearly feel his hardening cock. “ _I know what I want,_ Harry. Why won’t you give it to me?”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up as his fingers begin to massage Draco’s shaft through his pants, causing Draco to let out a little whine. He steps forward and closes the distance between them; Draco can feel their stomachs pressing together, Harry’s chest brushing his own. “You…” Harry starts, winding his arms around Draco’s waist and planting his hands over Draco’s arse. “You like. Even when I’m like this? I mean, Draco, I’m _sweaty,_ and—”

“ _Especially_ when you’re like this,” Draco interrupts, leaning forward and burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, licking the salt-sweat skin along his collarbone. “Merlin, Harry, haven’t you noticed how I practically _throw myself_ at you when you get back from flying? I couldn’t _possibly_ have been subtle.” He noses along Harry’s shoulder, hands skimming along his sweat-slicked back, until he reaches Harry’s underarm.

“I—” Harry starts, but Draco’s had enough of talking, and licks along the top of his armpit, right where his arm and chest meet, an area that Draco knows is sensitive.

Yelping, Harry’s hands tighten convulsively on Draco’s arse, and Draco moans, nibbling along the skin at Harry’s underarm, breathing in the magic and sweat and sheer masculine energy Harry’s emitting, getting high off it. “God, Harry,” he mumbles, biting his way back to Harry’s neck and licking up to his jaw. “I could eat you _whole_. You have no idea .”

“I think I’m beginning to,” Harry says faintly, shivering under Draco’s ministrations. “Look, can we—I get it, I do, but I’d really like to…” He gestures toward the shower.

Draco sighs, but steers them in and under the water, letting Harry get under the water for just a minute before he shoves him against the wall.

Harry’s body hair is plastered to his torso, now, and his eyes are wide and very, very green, and his chest is rising and falling rapidly, and Draco’s mouth waters.

He had plans for today, once he managed to get Harry to see reason—plans involving Harry sitting on his face until he was begging to come, plans involving Harry bending him over the sofa and fucking him until he saw stars—but he’s too worked up now, and Harry’s not far behind him.

Draco takes a minute to enjoy the hot water running down his back, noting with satisfaction that Harry’s eyes are caught on his body—Draco might not be as muscled as Harry is, he doesn’t have to be, but he keeps in shape, and he happens to know that Harry prefers his lean body type over any others—but once he’s warmed up, he steps forward and gets his hand between them, taking both their cocks in hand.

Harry kisses him desperately as Draco strokes them both—the friction is almost too much, with the water and the lack of lubricant, but the harshness is only pushing them closer—and Draco loses himself in the sensation of Harry’s arms around him, stroking over his hole with one hand, the other wound in his now hopelessly-tangled hair, tugging gently.

Draco shifts a bit and presses them even closer together, and has to pull his hand out from between them, angling himself to thrust against Harry instead. Harry breaks the kiss with a gasp and thuds his head back against the tiled wall as Draco rubs them together, and it’s not long before the movement and the friction tips them both over the edge. Draco comes first, biting hard on Harry’s neck as he spills between them, but he doesn’t stop moving, and the added slick from his come is enough to get Harry gasping and coming onto their stomachs, too.

Draco pulls them both back under the water, letting the water rinse their orgasms down the drain before he picks up the body wash and begins to rub Harry down.

“Mmm,” Harry says, eyes half-closed and swaying in place. “S’nice. You should shower with me every day.”

Draco chuckles, turning the water’s temperature up just a bit and rinsing the soap off, then gently turning Harry to face away from him as he grabs for the shampoo he insists Harry uses. “If we did that, we’d never leave.”

“Don’t _have_ to leave.”

“Oh, is that so? You plan on taking your meals in the shower? Entertaining the Grangers in our bathroom? We’ll have to look into adding some wizard space, if that’s the case—I doubt there’s room for a dinner party in here.”

Harry laughs, rolling his shoulders as Draco kneads at the tense muscles there for a moment before he starts washing Harry’s curls. He takes care to press hard against Harry’s scalp, and Harry’s laughter turns into groans of pleasure. “That feels _sogood_ Draco,” Harry slurs, sounding half-asleep now.

Dropping a kiss on Harry’s shoulder, Draco briskly washes himself, then shuts the water off and surrounds them with Drying and Warming charms—he’s too lazy to use a towel today. He directs a stumbling Harry out of the bathroom and through to the bedroom, pulling the covers back just in time for Harry to flop face-first onto the bed.

“You are bloody _useless_ after you come,” Draco says fondly, hauling Harry’s feet up onto the bed and sliding in next to him, tugging the blankets up around them. “I guess I could go for a nap, though. You wore me out last night.”

“Damn right,” Harry mumbles into his pillow, reaching out and flopping a heavy arm over Draco’s chest, which Draco immediately pushes off him; he can’t sleep if Harry’s touching him. “Do it again later, too.”

“Sure thing, stud,” Draco chuckles, dimming the lights.

**Author's Note:**

> the tumblr post for this fic is [here](https://bonesliketambourines.tumblr.com/post/632548403797262336/kinktober-day-20-in-a-lather).


End file.
